


Savoring Opportunity

by leathansparrow



Series: Opportunity-verse [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Fix-it fic, M/M, Multi, One-Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5628928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leathansparrow/pseuds/leathansparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The opportunities inherent in an unexpected survival have their benefits. </p><p>The less safe-for-work companion pieces to the AU fix-it A Gift of Opportunity.  Still written in no particular order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Peaceful Moment Happened Upon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Putting together an organization of international shinobi investigators means actually learning to work with new people. Turns out, there might be some benefits to sharing the load.

The four years Itachi spends working missions for the Kage’s International Shinobi Investigation Agency are a baffling mix of the best parts of his nostalgia for his wandering days, and the still unbelievable relief from the weight of his until now forgone destiny. Instead of missions he accepts because he has no other choice, he chooses missions that will make a meaningful contribution towards peace. Instead of a partner he cannot trust or cannot bear to fully trust, he has a partner he has full confidence in at his side.

Instead of pressing towards the inevitable end of his life, working for that last moment when he will complete his ultimate deception and finally give his brother the power to protect himself, he instead presses on to an open road with no end in sight. 

For some, he supposes, that would be terrifying. The future is laid out in front of him on a road without measurable length. But he has met a finite destiny already, and he has suffered the helpless agony of a road with no choices. A road ahead with more branches than he can count is terrifying, yes, but in the best way. 

For once in his life he can choose the path he wishes to take. And there is nothing to stop him. 

There is nothing that can stop him from enjoying the companionable silence as they complete their most recent arrest. Itachi is still becoming accustomed to the idea that he can perform an arrest and then call for reinforcements to take a criminal into custody. More importantly he is still unaccustomed to the idea that he can trust the small collection of jounin he and the Kages have collaboratively selected to act as loyal assistants to an organization not of their own village, let alone one headed by a former S-class mass murdering criminal. 

Each member of the processing team comes specially recommended by the Kages themselves. Each of them showed particular promise during the most recent war, not only for their skills as shinobi, but also for their ability to work as part of an international team. Each of them has been personally vetted by Itachi; he would accept nothing less for fear that the men and women he and Kisame take down might disappear into some nameless and unacceptable hole belonging to traitors more loyal to their own village than the Kages’ purpose. The ISIA is not ANBU. They do not work in secrets. They do not simply make problems disappear. The criminals they arrest are internationally wanted, their crimes are deeply investigated, and their trials are public, as are their ultimate fates. 

Itachi will accept nothing less than absolute transparency. He is more than willing to remove an agent under him who works against that purpose. 

Stranger than the issue of trust is the idea that he has not only Kisame, but a collection of worthy ninja to lighten the load of his work. He is unaccustomed to allowing a mission to be handed off to another. Having a clean up crew at all is jarring. 

The idea that someday he might have others performing investigations and arrests for him is more so. Of course he recognizes the inevitable next step of his agency, but it is a difficult one for him to accept. Expanding the ISIA beyond himself and Kisame and their tiny collection of supporters means trusting a naturally larger workforce as well. 

So for now, as their reputation grows, he is content to allow their organization to remain small. The small collection of jounin who he has allowed to work with him already may someday earn his shaky trust enough for him to promote them, but not yet. 

Though, having someone else to complete the mission and process the criminal they’ve arrested does have perks. For one, once an arrest has been made and their team has arrived, they have time to rest. Captain Yamato salutes Itachi with a casual grin. 

“Still making our jobs easy, Director?” 

They’ve started calling him that, and Itachi isn’t sure how comfortable it makes him. Kakashi recommended Yamato to his team, and he is the only one that Itachi personally knew before his exile. Because of that, Itachi has allowed himself to trust the man; he too has suffered at the hands of Konoha’s darkest shadows and though it is never a guarantee that he might seek transparency in his adult life, it seems he shares Itachi’s desire to never be trapped by such secrets again. 

Kisame rests a gentle hand on Itachi’s shoulder. “With some luck, she won’t wake up for several hours.” 

Captain Yamato laughs. Kazue, a young seal specialist from Sunagakure, looks up at Kisame with a measure amusement that comes of working in close proximity with a respected leader. Her reaction, and the reaction of the other three ninja on their team are comfortable. Casual.

Trusting. 

Itachi remembers vague flashes of such emotions from his time in ANBU, and equally how quickly they were destroyed by an old man’s paranoia. He prays he will never subject his own team to such betrayal.

“We’ve got them now Director,” Michi, from Kumogakure, waves a sun-browned hand. “Get some rest.”

Itachi bows his head and thanks them quietly, and doesn’t see the flicker of a smile Kazue shares with Kitsuchi from Iwagakure. He doesn’t notice the way Kisame grins at the pair of them as they leave their team behind. He’s just...well he supposes he might still be a little flustered by their casual camaraderie, and more so by the idea that they might include him in it. 

Itachi has never really had--

“We’re less than a mile from the sea, Itachi.” That is a request Itachi reads instantly. A short rest by the ocean would do both of them good, and so he accepts Kisame’s subtle push with a nod. 

“Perhaps there will be a way house nearby.” 

The road ahead does indeed lead them to a small coastal fishing village. This deep into Waterfall Country, there aren’t many large settlements, but there are those who travel south for the pleasantly warm weather and the invigorating scent of the sea breeze, and thus even a small village like this has a tea shop near the ocean and a small public beach. No doubt there is at least one inn as well. 

Itachi orders tea and sesame mochi while Kisame finds them a place to sit, folding his cloak down on the warm sand. When Itachi joins him, he scoots over just an inch so that if Itachi wants to use his cloak as a seat he must lean close. Itachi hardly minds. It isn’t a trick between them; Kisame has every reason to assume Itachi would appreciate physical contact after an arrest. “How are your eyes?”

“No pain,” Itachi replies honestly. “My chakra is adequate, but a rest cannot hurt.” In fact his eyes have not bothered him in six years, not since he awoke in Konohagakure’s hospital with his brother’s eyes replacing his own. Itachi suspects, though it still makes him uncomfortable, that Sasuke’s gift to him has completed his Mangekyo Sharingan. He no longer suffers the degenerative effects of using it, thanks to these eyes. 

He has never been inclined to push his luck, given his health, but he suspects were it to come to a real life-or-death battle, these eyes would prove far more powerful than his own. He is thankful he has never had to test that theory; more likely such a battle would trigger the disease still lurking dormant in his body to kill him anyway.

Itachi leans himself against Kisame’s chest comfortably, offering his partner a cup of tea as he savors the warmth of the sand beneath them and the sun overhead. He has the brief, childish desire to kick off his sandals. 

Waves break on the shore inches from their feet. “A couple hours and we’ll get wet ourselves,” Kisame tells him. He has a sense for the tides. Itachi cannot relate. He feels Kisame’s breath against his ear, as his partner leans down and sets his cup aside in the sand. “That was a good fight today, Itachi.” 

Itachi’s breath hitches. The deep rumble of Kisame’s voice sparks a pleasant fire in his spine. He doesn’t feel the exhilaration of battle the way Kisame does. It doesn’t excite him the same way.

But Kisame’s excitement does. It seduces his own to life. More so the things Kisame whispers in his ear: suggestions and possibilities of what they could do to each other when they are safely home, seduce him. 

Easily, because he has a very difficult time resisting the one man he trusts with everything he is. So easily that even on this public beach, with the fair possibility of a curious cafe owner watching them, Itachi still allows Kisame to tilt his head back and kiss him, the euphoric aftermath of a well-fought battle washing through Kisame and into him. He enjoys his partner’s happiness as his own.

“Ahem.” 

They don’t jump apart. They’re adults, and have been together long enough not to be embarrassed by interruptions.

“We’re done, Director.” The look Yamato gives them is half a second from an eye-roll of epic proportions, as if to say really Itachi? Here? Now?

Yes here, and now, and Yamato can kindly keep his opinions to himself. Isn’t he the one who told Itachi to relax? 

It’s times like these that Itachi is reminded, irritatingly, that his Captain is also his senior. Three of his jounin assistants are older than him, in fact, but Yamato alone remembers him as a green child.

Yamato is also very well aware that he and Kisame are involved with each other, and that it isn’t his business. Which he usually manages to respect. Itachi suspects that for a good number of his subordinates and former comrades, the idea of him involved in a romantic relationship is a fascinating shock unto itself. Itachi is well aware that he comes off cold and unfeeling at times. He is equally aware that those who don’t know him well might take comfort in some overt sign of humanity in him to quell their fears of his past. He finds the petty and shallow opinions of such people pointless. 

Occasionally they irritate him. 

Occasionally he realizes that the extreme nature of his actions in the past might warrant that kind of scrutiny.

Itachi lets himself lean against Kisame for a moment before duty reclaims his attention. He stands, brushing sand from his trousers. “Report to headquarters then. I’ll call you when we have our next mission.” It will take a few days to return to Konoha, but he can finish his report to the Kages tonight and have it sent by morning. If there are any other pressing matters, Kakashi knows how to contact him from afar. 

Yamato disappears in a puff of smoke. Itachi makes ready to leave their brief respite. 

Kisame tugs Itachi back down into the sand and wraps a warning arm around him. “Do you not intend to finish your tea?” 

Itachi is momentarily aggravated by Kisame’s interruption. They have work to do; his partner knows that. 

Kisame’s sharp gaze pins him in place as effectively as his arm. The coals of want are not yet cold in his eyes. He brushes his rough, large fingers against Itachi’s cheek in a gentle request. It is remarkable, Itachi finds, how gentle his partner is capable of being. His aggressive appearance would not suggest that, nor would his tendency towards predatory ruthlessness, but Itachi has always known him to be measured in speech, controlled in action, and, of course, gentle when he wants to be. Kisame is a predator by nature, but with a human conscience entirely capable of reason and care.

And desire. 

Itachi, though the urge or interest rarely strikes him, is no less prone to that desire in his partner's case. It is something that doesn’t strike him much, his awareness that Kisame is one of only two people he has ever desired this way and his further awareness that his experience is unusual. That doesn’t matter. He is alive and he has Kisame in every way that both of them want. 

Right now Kisame’s want burns under his own skin and tempts him from the very real work that must be done. Even, perhaps, from the cooling cup of tea at his side. He turns his head to kiss Kisame’s fingers, a silent acknowledgement of what they both want. 

Kisame grins and hands him his cooling tea, which Itachi finishes more recklessly than he would usually care to. His actions draw a laugh from his partner, who is all too happy to follow him from the beach. They could walk the couple miles to a larger village, but Itachi sees little reason to. Besides, the sun will be setting in a couple hours, won’t it? And this small village they’re in must have an inn of its own, given the location.

There is one. It isn’t fancy, but it does have the benefit of small but cleanly kept private rooms in addition to a dormitory. It is too early for futons to be laid out. The shogi doors are open to the veranda and the small first story garden below them. Itachi closes those doors a moment after they enter and turns to his partner. 

Who leans over him, cradles his face, kisses him until Itachi willingly loosens and falls into the warmth of Kisame’s arms. He allows Kisame to bend him back onto the tatami, a warm hand supporting his spine, and he savors the unignorable feel of weight and warmth and rough skin against his.

Sharp teeth nip teasingly at Itachi’s throat. Itachi digs his fingers into Kisame’s hair to encourage him further as he wriggles himself into a more convenient position. Kisame has the weight and size to hold him still fairly easily, but Itachi is equally skilled in escaping captivity. Which he doesn’t now because he doesn’t want to. Because he is enjoying Kisame’s enthusiastic hands on his skin as he pushes Itachi’s shirt to his neck. 

Itachi maneuvers himself to strip it off entirely and begins making inroads under Kisame’s trousers. The scratch of tatami against his spine contrasts the rough scrape of Kisame’s lips and makes the whole of him feel as if every stain and sense of guilt is being scratched from his skin. It leaves tingling newness in its wake and hitches Itachi’s breath; he wonders if it will leave marks and part of him hopes that it will. 

Kisame hoists them up, gripping Itachi’s ass hard as he pulls Itachi into his lap, a prefered position, because now Itachi can easily settle himself against Kisame’s broad chest and explore the sharp cut of his cheeks with his tongue. He can brush gentle fingers along the gills just behind Kisame’s ears and wonder at their soft texture. Better, he can listen to Kisame’s breath stutter at the touch. More than sensitive, they are a part of him that others have found strange or ugly in the past and though Kisame has never spoken of it, Itachi knows there are insecurities lurking in the depths of his mind. The injuries of a child who is far too easily shown his differences from his peers.

Itachi finds them fascinating: soft compared to the light sandpaper-scrape of Kisame’s skin, delicate in the way they move and flutter against his touch, vulnerable not unlike the way he feels about his own eyes. They are a source of power and unique ability for Kisame, but also such a part of him that they betray an obvious weakness.

So Itachi abandons his interest in Kisame’s trousers for the sake of playing with them, because Kisame seems to have the rest of that well in hand. He presses Itachi close, lets Itachi feel how hard he is between them, chuckles as Itachi hums a warm, satisfied sound against his throat. Itachi presses a hand to Kisame’s stomach and slides beneath his shirt. Nibbles the edges of his gills. Enjoys Kisame’s hips twitching beneath his. 

They’ve been together like this for two years. Two glorious years that are everything Itachi never knew he wanted from his life, and everything he never dared imagine he might have. Two years have not removed Itachi’s need to savor Kisame’s touch like a gift, or his company as one of his greatest sources of peace. Who would have guessed a man who threatened his life the day they meant would become so indispensable to his happiness. 

There are times between them that are hurried. There are times that are not. This time Kisame lets his hands and mouth wander, shifting impatiently as Itachi teases his throat and presses closer. This time Itachi presses kisses down Kisame’s chest as he leans back across the mats. Kisame’s legs bend to frame Itachi’s more slender form. Itachi nuzzles his crotch, savoring the thick smell of his lover’s arousal as he mouths him through his trousers. 

Kisame stretches back, hips lifting, toes curling as Itachi’s nimble fingers undo his fly and peel his pants over his thighs. He peels them down Kisame’s legs and over his calves and shucks them onto the floor so they are no longer a barrier between them. Itachi digs his fingernails gently into Kisame’s thigh with one hand, grips his cock with the other, and sucks the tip of him with the lightest touch of his lips. 

Kisame groans. Itachi is warmed to his toes by the sound. Large hands cradle the back of his head, a gentle but optimistic guide that Itachi doesn’t need, simply enjoys for the physical contact and clear appreciation of his actions. Kisame’s muscled abdomen clenches. Itachi can’t resist pressing his free hand against it, enjoying the flex of pure strength beneath his touch. Kisame is a master’s design in masculine musculature that Itachi on occasion envies and most often very intensely appreciates. Especially when he has the freedom to touch and explore it at will. 

Sweat beads on Kisame’s skin. Those powerful thighs tremble under his touch. Having such impact on such a powerful man is burns desire beneath Itachi’s skin. Having Kisame desire that from him is unlike any stimulant Itachi could think to desire. 

So caught is he in the feel of Kisame’s body shaking apart beneath him that Itachi doesn’t even realize he is shivering himself. Not until Kisame’s fingers tighten in his hair, nor until Kisame props himself upwards and draws Itachi’s body up from between his legs. They kiss messily between gasps as Kisame pulls Itachi until there is not a hint of air between them. Until Itachi hisses at the contact between his oversensitive flesh and Kisame’s rough skin. Kisame tilts Itachi’s head back and bites gently down on the crook of his neck as his free hand fumbles for their clothing.

When it returns, Kisame’s free hand slides underneath Itachi’s trousers and squeezes, working them down Itachi’s slender hips. He releases Itachi’s hair so he can use both hands to accomplish his mission. Itachi leans forward on his knees, straddling Kisame’s hips as best he is able, pressing his forearms down on Kisame’s shoulders. He feels tall like this, bending down to kiss his lover, hovering as a tease above him. 

Kisame hitches him up and shoves Itachi’s trousers to his knees, then off. He forces Itachi down, spreads the cheeks of Itachi’s ass and rubs himself between them. 

“Kisame,” Itachi groans, arching. Yes, he wants--

Kisame knows what he wants. He is all too willing to give it to him. Kisame works him open with rough impatience that Itachi all but demands, his fingernails digging angry crescents into Kisame’s shoulders. He bites his lip, silencing the involuntary sounds threatening to escape from his throat, until Kisame presses into him and he can’t anymore. He doesn’t have the will to, instead he is driven to desperate, open-mouthed gasps as Kisame fucks him. Heat wound tight in his gut steals his breath, drives him to tingling-numb weakness in his limbs that he would abhor in any other situation. 

There are times in this situation where he would have the will to press Kisame to the floor and ride him, just take from the enormously warm, intense experience of being with this man. Right now, he wants this closer contact, to be overwhelmed by Kisame’s presence beneath him, in him, surrounding him. Right now he wants to appreciate the ripcord shift of Kisame’s bulk and the feel of every muscle straining. He wants to fall apart knowing he can without consequence. 

Without fear. 

Kisame’s fingers work Itachi’s hair free of its tie and spread it tangled over his shoulders. He grips Itachi’s chin and pulls him into a violent kiss that nicks sharp teeth against vulnerable soft flesh and leaves pinpricks of ice-hot pain behind. Itachi buries the sound of his cries in Kisame’s mouth as he comes between them, left boneless in Kisame’s arms. 

Left to savor each thrust, each touch, each coil and release of strength. Kisame presses his face against Itachi’s and groans. Itachi gasps as heat floods him. Large hands cradle his cheeks. Lips whisper against his skin. 

Kisame chuckles, gently prying Itachi’s hand from his shoulder so that he can press kisses to each finger. Itachi nuzzles beneath his chin. He doesn’t want to move. 

Perhaps their fight left him more tired than he believed. “Itachi, the sun is setting. They’ll probably want to reset the room. Shall we order dinner?”

Itachi makes a vague noise to the affirmative. Then a bath, which he requests with a bit more clarity. Then some time to enjoy each other’s company in the dubious safety of an inn in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere before they are drawn back to work. 

Later, after they have eaten and bathed, Itachi will spend part of the night writing his reports by candlelight as Kisame reads. Later they’ll tuck the futons together despite the innkeeper’s assumption they should put out two. Itachi will curl himself into the center of the bed while Kisame fits himself around him and they will both remain awake, silently savoring each other's presence as the night’s sounds lull them. For several hours, out of habit, Itachi will remain awake while Kisame sleeps beside him, spinning plans in his own head. He will consider the evidence collected against their most recent captive and how best to arrange it for prosecution. He will consider what type of assignment awaits them next and wonder how far it will take them from Konoha. 

From home.

Funny. Home. That idea still isn’t entirely fixed in his mind. That he has a stable home to return to. He has Kisame with him on the road, so the thought that he has a physical home as well isn’t an immediate consideration. 

After those hours pass, Kisame will wake as per his own habits. Itachi will take the chance to sleep himself knowing he has a trustworthy protector in his most vulnerable state. Kisame will light a lamp and read until the dawn rises, and then will slip from their bed to practice katas in the gray morning light. Itachi is used to waking to the soft swish and clink of a sword with only the wind as an opponent, and as he does he will linger in comfort appreciating the show.

Perhaps when Kisame notices he will stop and come to kiss Itachi further awake. Perhaps he will grin and continue with more vigor than before. Perhaps he won’t notice until Itachi pulls himself from their bed and makes their morning tea and sets a cup for him out on the veranda. Then Itachi can watch his partner leap distance between the first story garden and their room and enjoy that show of unconscious skill.

Then they will return to the road, to the unmarked path that now defines their familiar and yet new life, and return to the still strange place they are beginning to call home, knowing that the feeling of home travels beside them always, and destiny no longer can call them its slaves.


	2. Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasuke is a man who can never sit still. While his brother may ultimately be at fault for some of that, he also knows when Sasuke needs to quit.

Whatever his opinion, Itachi generally makes a point of not interfering in his brother’s personal affairs.

For the most part, Sasuke is grateful for that. He knows that Itachi values his independence, and he knows he would feel smothered if Itachi did not. He appreciates that though Itachi makes his opinion of Sasuke’s frequent absences from his family clear, he leaves it to Sasuke to deal with.

On occasion Sasuke wishes he would interfere more, because his brother is by nature enigmatic. It can be difficult, in Sasuke’s more sour moods, to interpret Itachi’s distance as respectful rather than cold. That has always been a problem between them. Both Naruto and Sakura have heard his rants, wondering aloud whether Itachi really cares in his most frustrated moments. Both know that Sasuke doesn’t actually believe that.

Sasuke knows his brother cares. He knows Itachi cares enough not to suffocate him. Sometimes he wishes Itachi would interfere anyway.

This is not one of those times. 

It was a minor injury. Really. Nothing awful. It should heal in less than a week, sooner if he can push the medics. What Sasuke needs right now is to be out, back on the trail, hunting his escaped target. He does not need to be stuck in a hospital bed on his wife’s insistence.

Those flowers on his bedside table are Sakura’s not-so-subtle way of yelling at him for not coming to her first. She’s doing this to punish him, he knows it.

If his brother weren’t an interfering busybody, she wouldn’t even know he was home. 

Worse, Sasuke knows he’s in for it whenever Naruto finally gets off work. Hinata’s already been by with the kids; Sasuke admits he feels guilty at the way Sarada lit up seeing him home. He should be home more for her; it’s his job as her father to make her feel safe and cared for.

There’s something about Konoha that gets under his skin still, and that sets him on edge. He can love his family here as much as an Uchiha is capable of loving them, but if he lingers too long he feels….

Out of place.

Wound tight.

Trapped. 

Naruto understands. He doesn’t feel the same, but he accepts that Sasuke does. He accepts that Sasuke needs to be out doing something to protect the village, to protect his family, as much as he is physically able to. Naruto is the same way. Being Hokage is his active way of doing that, even if it requires more paperwork than he’d like.

Sakura understands. She hates that he doesn’t stop by, but she has her own drive and purpose and she recognizes his like need. If the goal she has fought so long and hard for were one that required her absence more frequently, she would do the same thing. She would not give up her dreams.

Hinata understands. Sasuke still sometimes doesn’t know how to feel about her. He has come to care for her. Her kindness, her gentleness, the fierce silk-strength within her, he deeply respects. He respects Naruto’s love for her, and Sakura’s affection. He respects her, herself, the only other person in his family who truly understands the weight of duty and family and their combined necessity. She is the only one he can talk to, who understands the gravity of expectation. 

Of his own expectations for himself.

Of his expectations for his family name.

But his brother is the worst. Sasuke knows Itachi understands the weight of the duty he feels. No one could possibly understand it better. And yet still Itachi feels the occasional need to interfere, and to remind Sasuke that his duty is not only to the betterment and protection of Konoha and his family, but to his family’s happiness as well. How can a man who sacrificed everything, including his family’s happiness, for duty, bear such heavy expectations for him?

Itachi doesn’t do this often.

When he does, Sasuke realizes that he does it out of need. 

Out of love. 

Sasuke sees it in Naruto’s eyes when he finally gets around to visiting. He sees his dearest friend relax the weight of a world from his shoulders as he pauses in the doorway and smiles at Sasuke as if just seeing him has lifted that weight from him. 

Naruto sits on the side of Sasuke’s bed and leans forward, pressing his forehead to Sasuke’s. “Good to have you home, asshole.”

There is so much in his tone that he isn’t saying. So much Sasuke doesn’t need him to say, because he understands. Thank everything you're safe. I love you. I’ve missed you. I’ve needed you here but I can’t ask you to be. I just need—

Guilt is a painful, terrible twist in Sasuke’s heart. He knows. He closes his eyes and leans into Naruto, because he knows. 

I’m glad to be home. I’ve missed you too. I’m so damn tired. I just want to be safe for a moment. I hate that I’m not doing everything to help you. I don’t want to leave. I hate that—

“Likewise, moron.”

Itachi rarely interferes in Sasuke’s affairs. He could interfere more; he is Sasuke’s boss and the one who assigns his missions. He could assign fewer.

He knows his brother too well to do such a thing. 

He knows his brother too well not to realize when he needs such a thing.

Later Sasuke will go home. He’ll do as Sakura asks, and he’ll spend a week or so healing in his own bed, in his own house, surrounded by his impossible and overwhelming family. He’ll yell at Naruto, and snap at Sakura, and teach Sarada a new shuriken trick. He’ll give in and tell Boruto a few stories from his travels, and maybe see how his taijutsu’s coming along. He’ll read Himawari a book at bedtime and let her fall asleep on his lap. 

He’ll spend a quiet moment with Hinata, drinking tea and just silently enjoying the chaos that waits at home for him whenever he leaves. The home he hasn’t had for so long that he is so desperate to protect. 

That he still can’t really believe he has. 

Maybe he’ll even visit Itachi, who’ll still be up late in his office reading reports. He’ll bully his brother into giving him a couple extra days, and Itachi will tease him, tell him how difficult that will be to arrange, and smile in that secret, satisfied way he does when he believes he’s won.

Sasuke will let him win, because in another week he’ll leave again. In another week he’ll be back on the trail, back in the race, back in the rush that will make him forget why he wanted to rest so long in the first place. He’ll be driven again into the battle that is protecting his precious family and their happiness from afar, knowing he sacrifices his time at their side for it. 

Knowing that if he stayed he would feel helpless, useless, powerless: something he can never bear to feel again. 

Knowing that his brother understands and will once again stop him when it becomes too much. When his family needs him too much. When he needs them too much. 

It is the only real apology Itachi can give him, for making him into a man who can never sit still. 

Sasuke lets his head fall to Naruto’s shoulder. He lets Naruto pull him closer, because Naruto is a tactile person and it gives him comfort to do so. For now, Sasuke will savor the home his brother has forced him to enjoy for a short time, and he will only complain a little. 

For now. 

\------

Sasuke does, in his frequent, lengthy absences, miss a few things. One is this: being folded comfortably into a real bed, with Naruto’s warmth pressing down on him, satisfied in the knowledge that no length of absence will ever dim their hunger for each other.

Naruto is a generous lover, a fact which Sasuke rarely has the opportunity to take advantage of. In fact he often forgets in the whirlwind of his work that he misses that opportunity in his absence. 

When he returns he has the occasion to be jealous of Sakura and Hinata. They have this whenever they might want it.

Tonight, though, the children are settled. Boruto and Sarada are over night with friends. Himawari is a sleep. Sakura has a late shift at the hospital and won’t be home for several hours. Hinata has knowingly wished them well; she has reports and a new novel to finish and is sweet enough to give them a moment just between them now that Sasuke’s injuries are moderately healed. They aren’t entirely, but neither are they serious anymore. 

Sasuke savors the weight of this man he has both hated and loved in turn. They have always shared a visceral attraction, undeniable even in their darkest moments. A kiss between them sears power and heat under Sasuke’s skin. Once he feared that power. He feared the idea of a power that he could never control or overcome, an overwhelming and unconquerable strength capable of stealing all he loves while he is left helpless.

Now that power is his. He could bend it to his will in the heart-bond between them. Naruto will never take what he loves away. Rather, he is an integral part of what Sasuke loves, of the family he has sworn to never harm again, and to protect with everything he is.

Even if protecting them means he cannot be with them.

Even if, sometimes, it means protecting them from himself. 

Sometimes Sasuke feels the gulf he sets between himself and his family like an open wound in his heart and he knows that his own fragile mind cannot allow them to mend it as he wishes they could. He wishes he was stronger, that he could resist the ever-present pull he feels to wander, to be constantly on the move, doing, fighting, fixing every threat that might come to them. He knows he hurts them when he leaves, but he knows he will always return.

He hopes they know he will always return. He can’t leave them forever. That wound is only ever staunched in their presence. 

Naruto’s presence with him now soothes the ache under his skin like a balm. Sasuke drags his fingers through short, golden hair and closes his eyes, drinking in the feel and warmth of Naruto’s lips. Naruto’s warmth is like a drug; even at his worst he could never resist it. Having tasted it in its entirety, he can never again refuse it. 

Warm, big hands slide against his bare sides, carefully skirting his wounds. Teasing the edges of bandages. Sasuke never feels small in Naruto’s arms. He feels like he is an untouched wilderness being explored and worshiped. Naruto’s touch feels like that of a man who cannot entirely believe he has this. It’s… satisfying.

Naruto presses open-mouthed kisses down his throat, down his chest. Sasuke hums, his hips rolling into that slow caress until Naruto takes his cock in his mouth the way Sasuke wants him to. Until he lets Sasuke grip his skull through his hair and sucks him like he’s precious and rare and could escape at any moment. A part of Sasuke likes having that power over his lover. He likes the edge of desperate wonder in Naruto’s touch. It feels wrong to like it, but he savors knowing that Naruto knows that tomorrow he could be gone. 

Guilt eats at him, but doesn’t stop him from bucking into that heat, wriggling as Naruto’s arm pins his hips to the bed, and as heat rolls up his spine, leaving him thrashing and desperate. Sasuke bites into his hand to silence the cries of his satisfaction. His head falls back as he feels Naruto’s slick fingers begin to stretch him, because yes he wants—

What he can never admit he wants. What Naruto knows he wants. To be theirs entirely. To be home at his lovers’ sides, unburdened by his insatiable wanderlust and the constant eating paranoia that he isn’t doing what he should to keep them safe. 

It is in moments like these, when Naruto presses him into the bed and takes him like he’s a gift. It’s when Sakura pins him to a wall and welcomes him home like she’s missed every inch of him. It’s when Hinata takes his hand and kisses his bruised knuckles as she opens the door and beckons him inside. How can he have this? He, cursed as he is, the last of Konoha’s greatest protectors, who can never do enough.

(He’s doing enough. His brother makes sure he is doing enough. There is nothing more he can do.)

Naruto fucks him like he sees every iota of Sasuke’s insecurities and is desperate to remind him they don’t matter. He loves him with gentleness, with his generous strength, with his too-big heart. Sasuke thrashes beneath him because it is too much: the building heat between them, the painful rending in his heart, the knowledge that no matter what he does, this is his home and he will always be welcome here.

Nothing he can do could ever take his family away again. 

Naruto curls around him, leaning his chin against Sasuke’s shoulder. Heavy warmth lulls Sasuke’s exhausted, satisfied body to sleep.

Into safety.

Until late in the night they are joined by Sakura and Hinata, and that warmth multiples into impossibility. 

This is what he misses the most. Here in Konoha, in his home, with his family, he is safe. Absolutely and undeniably safe. That is a gift and a blessing that, for his chaotic and broken life, he still cannot believe he has.


	3. Curing the Presence of Idiots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisame mourns the challenges and appreciates the benefits of a settled lifestyle.

Generally speaking, when Itachi finally agrees to remove himself from the rigors of actual missions for the ISIA, it means a very uncomfortable change of pace for both of them. It has been a very, very long time since Kisame spent an extended period of time in any populated area, and Konohagakure is nothing like the Hidden Mist he remembers. Kirigakure never had so many civilians running about underfoot.

Of course they settle in Konoha. Kisame doesn’t have a family to speak of, and Itachi does. The Hokage is their biggest supporter. There is a welcome space here for both them and their work. For the most part. Their reputations precede them, of course. 

It’s for the best. Itachi’s health has always been an uncertain factor in their work, and though he remains reasonably stable, he has been warned repeatedly by both Tsunade and Sakura that the stress of constant travel and fighting is the most likely thing to trigger his illness again. It takes a year to convince Itachi of that, once Kisame is comfortable enough with Konoha’s premier medics to ask them personal questions about his partner’s health. 

Itachi doesn’t appreciate the invasion of his privacy, but in this particular case he is fairly used to it. So he grumbles, but half his grumbles question exactly why it has taken Kisame so long to check up on him, and the other half insinuate that Kisame’s resolve is slipping. 

“You never would have let me go so long without prying before.”

“You were actually dying before.”

Itachi concedes that point quickly enough that it is clear he is troubled by the reminder. Mentioning his condition before his battle with his brother is usually a simple fact of life between them, but Kisame suspects Itachi feels some kind of guilt regardless. For putting Kisame through watching him die, perhaps. That discomfort only shows itself during such discussions. 

If that means that Itachi is more likely to listen to his advice now, Kisame isn’t going to complain. It starts with convincing Itachi to allow his subordinates to take on more of the investigations and arrests themselves. It culminates in Kisame convincing Itachi to step back entirely, but for the most desperate of circumstances, and monitor their growing organization from the safety of their headquarters.

There are benefits. Itachi’s two-year-old niece is a tiny bundle of energy that Itachi quietly adores, and the opportunity to visit her and his brother’s family fills a hole in Itachi’s life that Kisame never recognized before. Kisame himself is awkward with children. They tend to be afraid of him at first glance, which though a reasonable survival instinct, is not pleasant for him. Thus he has little experience with their mannerisms.

Itachi, clearly, does not share that problem. He is remarkably patient as he listens to his niece’s chattering, and as he lets her pet one of his crows. Uchiha Sarada will someday learn what Itachi has done, and the entire cursed story of who he is, but for now she is a two-year-old girl in love with her very patient uncle. Who is equally patient with Kisame as he learns to understand her in turn.

Which is good, because Sarada’s brother, Naruto and Hinata’s little boy Boruto, is two-year-old mischief incarnate and is already insisting he isn’t scared of Kisame with the vigor of someone who clearly is. Kisame has to remind himself that this is a two-year-old boy. He hides behind his father’s leg and has no idea what he wants. 

Unfortunately, coordinating missions from home also means Itachi is forced to deal more directly with the politics behind his missions. For the Hokage that is a relief. Kakashi clearly appreciates having Itachi present for the negotiation of assignments, if only so he can later share the frustration with the morons who want to use their organization irresponsibly. Kisame develops considerable respect for the man when he realizes exactly how much idiocy he must have dealt with on their behalf. 

“Just wait,” Kakashi reminds them with a wry smile under his mask. “In six months Naruto’ll be in here with you.”

Itachi has a very distinct look about him when he is deliberately reminding himself to be patient. Kisame smothers a laugh and shares a look with the Hokage, who clearly recognizes it too. Every bit of help Kakashi has given them is going to be repaid in full very shortly, regardless of how good Naruto’s intentions might be. Kisame resolves to double check any and all pending assignments they have thoroughly ahead of time to try and waylay the silent, manic stress he knows Itachi will be feeling when they go into their first meeting with Naruto as Hokage. 

They can worry about that in six months. Today they have a request from the Water Daimyo concerning a member of his staff who has been allegedly selling state secrets.

The problem is, they have absolutely no evidence that this staff member is selling state secrets. The Water Daimyo’s representative is a thick, weasily-looking man wearing a sword at his hip that is strapped incorrectly. He has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as if trying to impress someone, but all they reveal is a complete lack of any muscle appropriate to a swordsman. Better (or worse) he recognizes Kisame instantly. 

That happens to both of them with relative frequency. The difference is that by now most officials of any importance have been briefed on the circumstances surrounding Itachi’s past. He clearly unnerves people, but unless he has his Sharingan active they tend to settle once he begins to speak. For Kisame, legend has built him into a Water Country boogeyman: the Monster of the Mist to whom the weak, the traitorous, and the worthless are sacrificed to maintain Kirigakure’s strength. And he, unlike Itachi, cannot hide his less human features. 

In at least one instance since they began working out of headquarters, a client with the authority to request a mission by the ISIA has asked that Kisame leave the room. Itachi’s response was a very clear, uncompromising message: “If he leaves, I leave.” When the man tried to insist, Itachi did just that. A bow to the Kages, a calm and polite, “forgive us, but this man does not need our help,” and they were both gone. 

Itachi has shown time and time again how indispensable he considers Kisame, but never in defiance of a world leader. Not until that incident. Word must have gotten around, because no one has been so foolish as to make that request twice. 

Though this man seems like he might want to. 

Kakashi is already seated at the room’s front table when they arrive. Itachi takes his customary place at Kakashi’s right, and Kisame positions himself behind him. Four other chairs sit empty to Kakashi’s left. These days it is rare that all five Kages are present for mission requests. Once Kakashi and Itachi have vetted the proposal, messages will be sent to each of them detailing the case. Any one of them may decide to refuse it. The same system may be used by any of the Kages to send a request for the ISIA to conduct an investigation from their home country. That Itachi is now present for most of the requests that come through Konoha means several that might otherwise have wasted the Kages’ time are dismissed quickly. 

That the Water Daimyo has sent a representative to Konoha rather than requesting the ISIA’s help through the Mizukage is an immediate sign that this request is likely to be a of waste of time. The Kages rarely bother to tell each other when they’ve received and dismissed requests. This isn’t the first time someone has tried to skirt around the system by going to another Kage. 

Theoretically that someday might be a benefit, if one Kage ends up being too hasty in dismissing a case. Today it is a recipe for frustration.

“We know it’s her. Six major trade deals in the past eight months have gone bad because of her. She’s been selling our secrets to River Country.”

“And you can’t deal with this internally because?” Kakashi drawls. He looks bored. Sounds bored too. Kisame has decided that is usually either a sign that he is, or that he wants you dead. Or he wants you dead for boring him. Kisame thought Itachi was enigmatic until he met the current Hokage on any basis other than potentially deadly showdown. 

That guy who keeps showing up to the Hokage’s office. The one in green whose name Kisame can never quite remember (oh he can remember, he just enjoys watching Guy burst a vein every time he pretends he doesn’t). How exactly does a man that energetic wind up best friends with Hatake Kakashi?

Kisame considers the several sets of close friends he has met in his time. He thinks of Naruto and Itachi’s little brother and decides logic doesn’t apply. Which is for the best, because if logic applied he wouldn’t be standing here right now to listen to this babbling idiot.

“The Water Daimyo is insistent this be handled by the ISIA. It could become an international incident!”

“How?” Itachi asks, his patience short. “Is she in River Country? Arresting a citizen traitor within Water’s borders shouldn’t be an issue.” 

The man hedges. Fidgets. Fidgets with the handle of his sword, which is just stupid. Putting a hand on his weapon in a room full of ninja who would be scrubbing a stain off the floor if he pulled it. Kisame almost wants him to. 

Looks at him. Dares him to. 

The man meets his eyes for a brief second. Then his hand flinches back. Pretty much all of him cowers under Kisame’s stare. He looks away a moment later and mumbles something under his breath. 

“You were saying?” Kakashi prompts. 

“She’s a favorite of the River Country princess.”

Kakashi looks dumbfounded. Itachi looks at his superior, then at the man requesting their assistance, his brow furrowing. That furrow grows deeper when Kakashi gives a short laugh and points to the door. “Get out.”

“How dare you, I’m a representative of the Water Daimyo himself! You can’t just--” 

Kisame follows Kakashi’s lead and unsheathes his sword, pointing it first towards this cowering shrew and then to the door. “You heard the Hokage.” He ‘gently’ encourages him. “Make your excuses to your Lord. The ISIA will not be taking this case.”

Kakashi rubs his head as the man slinks (runs) out with his proverbial tail between his legs. Itachi lifts a delicate eyebrow. “There isn’t actually any credence to anything he’s said today, is there?”

“Well, the woman he was talking about is pretty fond of trips to River Country. As part of the entourage that’s been going with the Water Daimyo’s youngest son to visit there every month. The fact that the River Country princess wants a clerk more than the Water Daimyo’s son isn’t an ISIA problem.” Kakashi pauses. “”Isn’t that son an asshole anyway?” 

“That is what they wasted our time on?” Itachi exclaims.

Kakashi looks at him. “It’s going to get worse.”

Kisame can almost hear the noise of absolute indignant frustration that Itachi suppresses before he stands. He’s pretty sure Kakashi is laughing behind that mask of his. He envies Kakashi the means to hide his own amusement, which he shares with the Hokage over Itachi’s irritable head. He’s going to owe this man his thanks later, when they’re handling most of these requests themselves and Itachi actually does start pulling his hair out over the idiocy of some of them. 

Itachi’s shoulders are tight with visible irritation when they return to headquarters. He doesn’t huff as he drops into his desk chair, but the way he grabs for Katsue’s team’s recent report speaks of equal frustration. Kisame fights back his amusement as he leans over the back of Itachi’s chair and lays a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

Which abruptly goes whip-cord tight, then loosens with a drawn sigh. Kisame moves his hand to the back of Itachi’s neck, gently rubbing at the tendons until that tension drains from him. A soft moan escapes his lips as he relaxes, as his neck tips back into Kisame’s care and the pale line of his throat is exposed. 

Kisame grins, warmed both by the trust Itachi places in him, exposing his throat to a predator like this, and by the beautiful sight he presents doing so. There are scars on Itachi’s skin, thin white lines just visible against his natural pallor, but from a distance Kisame can imagine it is soft and pristine. Untouched. Waiting to be marked. 

Then later when he is closer, when he traces the thin lines of those scars with teeth and tongue, he can remember what a lie Itachi’s fragile beauty is, for every scar reveals the strength and sacrifices beneath. 

Not that Kisame doesn’t appreciate Itachi’s beauty for its own sake. There is something incredibly satisfying, having one of the most beautiful men Kisame has ever met consenting to be his lover. There was an unfortunate time in the mess of his adolescence when the uncommon nature of his own rough blue skin and sharp features convinced him that such a match could never be. Then soon after came every reason why there was no point in worrying about a match at all; there wasn’t anyone he could possibly trust to be his lover for more than the briefest of moments anyway. Worrying over anything other than mutual interest was a futile exercise. 

By the time Kisame realized how little those hurtful lies from his childhood meant, he already had the most beautiful man he could possibly have seduced in his bed anyway. 

“Is the door locked?” 

Very, very willingly in his bed. And if that wasn’t an invitation…. 

Kisame quickly makes sure it is. By the time he returns Itachi has cleared off his desk of anything important. Seated on it expectantly, he looks every inch the son of ninja nobility. His dark eyes are pools of heat framed by thick black lashes. He has loosened his hair; he knows Kisame likes it, and it falls in a dark waterfall over his shoulders. His cloak is left draped over the back of his chair, as he smiles with those pretty full lips of his and beckons Kisame closer. 

Kisame takes a moment to appreciate the view in front of him before he answers that summons. The frustration of dealing with idiots is one of few triggers that drives Itachi to be reckless with the semi-public space that is his own office. Kisame certainly isn’t going to complain when it means he can slide himself between those long, slender legs, press his hand to the gentle curve of Itachi’s spine, and kiss those teasing lips until they’re red and bruised. Kisame follows the tempting lift of Itachi’s shirt-hem with his hands, fingers coursing over smooth, scar-broken skin far softer than his own. 

Itachi hates it when he treats him like he’s soft, but in that sense Itachi is. In the sense that his skin feels like silk against Kisame’s even with his scars, and in the sense that he bends and curves and fits himself with such ease against Kisame’s larger frame. As if he is trying as best he can to crawl under Kisame’s skin and mold himself there. 

Itachi’s long-fingered hands dig sharp points into Kisame’s scalp and shoulder. He hitches his hips forward, moans, parts from their kiss so he can stare open-mouthed, panting, up at Kisame with those damned eyes of his. He bites into his lip and grinds, contact which lights a fire under Kisame’s skin, to feel Itachi’s impatient desire against his. Kisame hooks his thumb in the chain of Itachi’s necklace to tug him closer, mouths the skin just beneath Itachi’s jaw and then lower. He brushes Itachi’s loose hair back over his shoulder before he bites delicately against Itachi’s collarbone just so he can feel Itachi shudder against him, so he can hear Itachi’s breath catch and hiss between his teeth, so he can know this beautiful man’s impatience is centered entirely on him. 

Then Itachi’s hands drop to tug at Kisame’s shirt. Kisame obliges him, though he must release his lover to do so, and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it away somewhere. He thinks it catches on the corner of a filing cabinet, but he doesn’t have any interest in checking. He’s far more interested in Itachi taking advantage of the moment to remove his own clothing, by the way he wriggles his trousers down his thighs and kicks off his sandals. He almost leaves his shirt on in his impatience, but Kisame isn’t having any of that. Itachi isn’t hiding any of that lovely pale skin from him, so Kisame slides his hands up Itachi’s sides and helps him, amused by the baleful look he earns for his assistance. 

Model of efficiency that he is, Itachi’s clever hands go immediately to Kisame’s belt. Kisame catches those hands and pulls him away. A snarl rumbles Itachi’s throat until Kisame bites it gently and that snarl becomes a half-hitched whine that Itachi tries to suppress and can’t, quite. Kisame presses the palm of his hand down on Itachi’s cock. “Relax Itachi,” he murmurs against the skin of Itachi’s throat. He wants to take this man apart. Wants to watch Itachi’s self-control crumble under his hands.

Wants to fuck him until Itachi can’t think of anything more frustrating than how much more he wants Kisame in him. 

That won’t take long. A frustrated Itachi is an inevitably impatient Itachi, and with Kisame he feels no need to resist his own impatience. So when Kisame pins his hands to the desk he retaliates by wrapping his legs tight around Kisame’s waist, by thrusting down against him and whispering in Kisame’s ear in that deep, lust-rough voice of his. “Kisame,” he all but orders, “I want you to pin me to this desk so hard I feel it tomorrow.”

Kisame obliges. There is a little hidden compartment at the corner of the desk he can just reach. He knows the twist of the mechanism well enough to fumble it one handed as he manhandles Itachi onto his stomach and presses him down over the desk. He pins Itachi with one hand on the center of his back, holding him down hard enough to make Itachi feel like he is being honestly trapped, knowing that Itachi could very easily escape him if he actually wanted to. He doesn’t want to; he shudders under Kisame’s touch, his thighs trembling, his eyes squeezed shut, his hips jerking as he relishes that display of strength. 

Kisame in turn groans appreciatively at the implicit trust in Itachi’s reaction, and more so at the enticing visual Itachi makes spread out before him: every wire-toned muscle straining in resistance, remarkable strength hidden in deceptive fragility. Kisame has seen so, so many people underestimate Itachi for his appearance. So many assume he cannot possibly be as powerful as he is simply because of his slender build and delicate features. He loves watching them realize in a horrified instant just how wrong they are. 

Itachi presses his palms against the desk’s top, his fingers scraping and clenching on wood as Kisame fingers him. He arches his hips into the desk, spine curving a soft line of wiry muscle under Kisame’s palm. The muscles of his shoulders ripple as he shifts and wriggles and finally bites down on his hand to muffle the sounds threatening to escape his throat. He tries desperately to press his hips back into Kisame’s touch, but Kisame holds him steady. Teases him, just a little, just so he can watch Itachi squirm beneath him. 

With one hand, Kisame releases himself from his trousers, groaning. He pulls Itachi’s hips back tight against him, rubs his cock between those supple thighs, molds his fingers into the tight muscle of Itachi’s ass until Itachi bites a curse at him through clenched teeth. “Kisame.” 

Enough teasing. Kisame presses into him slow enough to savor the feel of Itachi clenching around him. Itachi’s mouth falls open. He slumps half-boneless, half wound tight, but most importantly without any care at all for his earlier frustrations, only for the feel of Kisame in him, over him, taking him the way he wants him to. Kisame leans over him, presses him down, savors the silky warmth of Itachi’s skin and the incredible heat of Itachi’s body. The acid-sharp scent of blood riles a fire that prickles his nerves. He thrusts hard, fast, sliding a hand beneath Itachi’s chest so he can press his lover against him and feel every shift and twitch of muscle, the way Itachi struggles and resists struggling as he falls apart. 

Kisame swipes his thumb over Itachi’s cut lip and sucks that precious copper taste. Bends to bite Itachi’s shoulder harder this time, hard enough to nick cuts with his sharp teeth, pinpricks that draw heated cries from Itachi’s throat as Kisame laps the tiny, beading morsels away. He shoves his bloodstained hand between Itachi’s legs and grips him, lets him fuck his hand helplessly.

Itachi shudders, groans, comes beneath him like he is shaking apart. All of that lovely pale skin trembles. Itachi’s dark hair tangles over his shoulders, damp with sweat, and those eyes. Itachi looks back at him over his shoulder with them glazed, half-lidded, satisfied.

Beautiful. 

Kisame groans. He grips Itachi’s hips tight, his thighs shaking, and loses himself in that image. 

It takes him a moment to pick himself back up. When he does, Itachi gingerly turns himself over and wraps his arms around Kisame’s shoulders. Kisame runs his palms lightly up Itachi’s thighs, gently thumbing red marks that will be bruises by morning. 

Itachi doesn’t seem to mind. He strokes his fingers down Kisame’s cheek and kisses him, nuzzling the sharp cut of his jaw. “Satisfied?” Kisame asks. 

“I believe you’ve fulfilled my request thoroughly.” Mischief dances in Itachi’s gaze. 

A very patient, very pointed knock sounds at the door. “Sir, you have a meeting with the Hokage in fifteen minutes.” Suizashi Yuu sounds resigned. Kisame laughs. When she signed up for the ISIA she probably never expected to have to deal with a legend from her childhood (the monster under the bed, mind) fucking her boss in the office. They should probably add something to the recruiting exams to weed out ninja who can’t handle that. 

Itachi does not suppress his own irritable groan, which she can no doubt hear through the door. “Thank you,” he calls anyway. Then he pointedly glances at Kisame’s shirt. Which is not on the filing cabinet, but actually hanging half off a lamp. He looks torn. 

Kisame goes for the medical kit in the desk’s bottom drawer as Itachi searches for his own clothing. “This is going to show,” he tells Itachi as he dabs ointment on the tiny cuts his teeth have left on Itachi’s shoulder. 

“Kakashi has seen worse.” 

“And if Naruto is there?”

Itachi has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. But only slightly. He fishes an extra hair tie out of his desk and cards his fingers through it, hoping for some relative degree of presentability. “Can you delay them for a few minutes.”

Kisame shrugs. Kages historically are not easy to delay, but in Kakashi’s case it won’t be hard. Itachi casts a genjutsu on himself before he slips out the door, heading for the restroom. That Kisame laughs at, but he has a little more flexibility in his schedule. He can sneak off to clean up when Itachi returns without delaying them. He does wonder for a moment if Yuu has already deliberately delayed the meeting, or if she is simply brave enough now, after several such incidents, to not be too embarrassed to warn them with adequate time to spare. If it is the latter he might have to commend her for that. 

It doesn’t take Itachi long at all to return looking relatively presentable. The bite on his shoulder is partially visible and he still looks slightly roughed up. He leans up to kiss Kisame as he reaches for his cloak. “I’ll meet you there.” 

Back to work it is. Just like that. Without the road between them and their reports, they have a great deal more time to do as they please, and equally far less before they are interrupted again. Learning to live in this more hectic, populated environment may be a challenge, but Kisame is growing fond of its benefits. 

And of the potential for them to last a very long time.


	4. Within Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparing, while entertaining for both of them, requires very precise and carefully measured rules.

Generally speaking, Itachi and Kisame rarely spar with each other. They have vastly different fighting styles, for one, and they both have their own training routines that rarely necessitate another person. When they do spar with each other, they have a set of very specific and carefully considered rules.

1) No Jutsu. 

Both of theirs are likely to cause catastrophic collateral damage if they decide to use them seriously. Itachi’s are extremely draining and there is no reason to stress his chakra unnecessarily. Kisame doesn’t share that issue, but his tend to be flashier and thus even more likely to cause extra damage to their surroundings. So, taijutsu only. 

2) Never in or around their or anyone else’s residence. 

Again, the potential for collateral damage is high. Even with only taijutsu, Kisame can still level a wall with his sword. Itachi is extremely likely to use cover to conceal himself as much as possible, so obstacles are very likely to become targets. 

3) If it’s over, it’s over. 

This isn’t usually an issue. Neither of them are so unrestrained that they feel the need to push themselves unnecessarily, nor are they insecure in their abilities in such a way that they must defend their pride.

They do, however, keep score, because it entertains both of them to measure their abilities against the other. And there are advantages to their occasional matches. Rarely does either get the chance to practice against an opponent whose strengths differ so fundamentally from their own. 

Kisame is calculated brute force. Itachi is as slippery as the wind. Naruto once described their sparring as a seriously messed up game of whack-a-mole. 

Itachi is still a little mortified by that, but has to admit there might be something to it. 

He enjoys the chase. That it is Kisame hunting him turns what could be a very serious threat into an exhilarating game. While physically he is no match for Kisame’s raw strength, he is considerably faster than his partner. Not that Kisame is any slouch in agility. He can, after all, keep up. 

But Itachi makes a point of using his environment to his advantage. He launches himself from the branch of a tree over Kisame’s head, aiming his knife at Kisame’s throat. He expects Kisame’s sudden turn and uses a subtle push of his chakra to redirect himself. He pushes himself off the pommel of Kisame’s sword as he swings it and flips over Kisame’s head so quickly he might as well vanish to the naked eye, but Kisame can sense him. 

With a laugh he sweeps his sword back close enough to nearly catch the edge of Itachi’s shirt. Itachi vanishes back into the trees. 

For a moment. 

Until Kisame levels the tree he is hiding in. Itachi ducks splintering wood and kicks off a nearby rock. He flings one kunai then another, redirecting the first towards Kisame’s sword arm, and when Kisame moves to block he is there himself spinning a kick at Kisame’s head. Kisame drives his sword into the ground and catches Itachi’s ankle. 

Almost. Itachi manages to save himself the humiliation of being tossed into the nearest bush by a hair. Literally. He feels the wind Kisame’s hand makes just to the side of his ear as he uses Kisame’s shoulder as a handhold to save himself. He doesn’t realize he is laughing until Kisame does. “Enjoying yourself Itachi?”

He is. How often is it that he can move himself like this for the pure pleasure of doing so? How long has it been since he could train himself without unnecessary pain? How often does he get to match himself against an adversary who has nothing but his best interests at heart, but who will push him anyway? 

Itachi can’t even remember a time he could compare this to. 

Kisame leaves his sword behind for the sheer entertainment of skin against skin, bone against bone, muscle against muscle. Itachi spins a precise kick to the back of his knee that would level most people. Kisame lets it hit, and proves himself to not be most people; he shifts his primary balance to his other leg and hooks Itachi’s ankle with his knee just as Itachi makes contact. Itachi drives his heel down at Kisame’s thigh, right into the muscle above his knee to shock him into releasing him, and Kisame tumbles, because his balance is shot with that move. 

They both scramble to their feet and resume without pause. Kisame’s physical strength at an impasse with Itachi’s physical speed, and neither entirely able to outpace each other. Itachi takes a chancy dive for one of his kunai (he isn’t using the summoning scripts he usually wears under his sleeves) and Kisame manages to grapple him, heaving him up off the ground and trapping Itachi’s arms against his chest. 

Itachi curses and squirms, options running lightning fast through his head. He could escape if he wanted to. He can think of six immediate ways before resorting to jutsu. 

But not without causing Kisame actual harm. So he uses his foot to tap Kisame’s thigh and calls it. As per their agreement, Kisame releases him immediately. 

Almost releases him. Laughing, he turns Itachi in his arms and presses a kiss to his hair, and lets Itachi lean against him, enjoying the contact. Itachi closes his eyes and smiles. He presses his hand to Kisame’s chest, feeling the fast pulse of his heart, the deep weight of his breath, and savoring it. Savoring this: just having fun with a man whom he loves, dearly, and whom he never wants to be without. Kisame brushes the loose bits of his hair back from his face and bends to kiss him. Itachi sighs into that kiss. His fingers tighten in the fabric of Kisame’s shirt. He presses closer, nudging his thigh between Kisame’s legs so he can feel the entire muscled length of his lover’s body as close against him as is possible.

Fingers tangle in and pull gently at his hair. Kisame works the tie out and runs his fingers through the tangles. Itachi’s other hand splays against Kisame’s stomach, pressing into every heavy breath and every clench of his abdomen. He feels the anticipation tensing Kisame’s stomach, and it lights a fire under his own skin that, well… there’s not reason not to just enjoy it, is there? 

“Kisame.” Itachi murmurs against his lips. His hand slides down and Kisame groans as Itachi worms his way into Kisame’s trousers. Grips his cock. Enjoys the feel of it hardening in his hand. Better, enjoys the feel of Kisame’s fingers tightening in his hair, the way his breath stutters, and the way he hisses “yes” against Itachi’s mouth. 

Itachi fishes into his pouch as he strokes Kisame’s cock, as he loses himself in the rough warmth of Kisame’s mouth. One handed he slicks his fingers and works his way down the back of Kisame’s trousers. Enjoys the twitch of Kisame’s hips, feeling Itachi work him open. He presses fingers into Kisame. Kisame impatiently shoves his trousers further down his thighs and presses his hips into Itachi’s touch. His legs quiver. He breathes hard against Itachi’s mouth, then his throat. Burries his face in Itachi’s throat really as Itachi’s fingers turn him into a trembling mess.

His legs spread, half in anticipation, half involuntarily, as Itachi backs him into the tree behind him and crowds against him. Kisame fumbles Itachi’s trousers open and hitches a thigh high up Itachi’s waist. They’re ninja; and thus thankfully flexible, so when Itachi presses into Kisame at last he doesn’t need to worry for Kisame’s comfort. Just for the groan and shudder and heat of him as he fucks into Kisame and hisses at the sharp pain of Kisame’s teeth breaking skin.

The harsh scrape of Kisame’s skin against his brings a groan to Itachi’s lips. He runs his hand up Kisame’s thigh just so he can feel that sand-paper scratch and presses into Kisame harder. He grips his thigh, digs his fingers into Kisame’s flesh and fucks him. Into that tight, gripping heat that inflames his mind, his heart, his flesh until he can’t think about anything but the slick slap of skin against skin and the feel of Kisame’s sharp teeth against his throat. 

One of Kisame’s big hands slides between them, giving Itachi the very attractive view of Kisame stroking his own cock in time to Itachi’s trusts. Itachi shudders, groans, his eyes attentive to every twist, to the exact pressure Kisame prefers, to the slide of his fingers glossing over his cockhead and smearing the translucent liquid beading at the tip. His throat goes dry watching. His Sharingan spin active. He hears Kisame laugh and feels fingers leave his hair as Kisame draws his chin upwards, away from that enticing sight. 

To look into his dark eyes. “Memorizing me, Itachi?” Itachi’s skin burns at the sound of his voice. He feels drunk on sight and heat and the rumble of Kisame’s chest beneath his. 

Kisame’s kisses him and he comes, losing himself to that burning heat. Kisame shudders beneath him, and Itachi has just enough mind to look down as he spills over his own hand, to memorize every detail: the flutter of Kisame’s thighs, the twitch of his cock, the exquisite ripple of muscle. 

Strong arms wrap around him. Kisame brushes a finger beneath Itachi’s eye, and he looks up. The open fondness in Kisame’s expression stings Itachi’s chest. “You remember everything you see with these eyes, don’t you.” 

Itachi turns his face to kiss Kisame’s hand. “I would rather these memories be seared into my mind.” 

Kisame consumes him in a kiss, buries him in his arms, envelops him in his warmth. And rather than let himself forget, instead, Itachi remembers.


	5. Texture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Itachi finds the feel of Kisame’s skin fascinating.

Itachi finds the texture of Kisame’s skin fascinating.

Usually, Itachi’s interest in touching other people is a matter of relationship and mood. He is a ninja; common sanity encourages him to be cautious and even if it did not, his interest in physical contact requires a combined measure of trust and affection that he does not feel towards many people. He doesn’t concern himself enough with most people to have any interest in touching them. With those he actively dislikes, the idea of such contact makes his skin crawl in ways that inspire violent and frustratingly uncontrolled urges he generally considers below himself. 

Like it or not, he is an Uchiha, and thus cursed with a hereditary depth of emotion that can be overwhelming when allowed unchecked. Itachi prides himself on his critical intelligence. Among his most foolish decisions were made lost in the grip of undisciplined emotion. It has rarely been a gift to him. 

But it has, sometimes. 

In the serenity he felt in his mother’s arms. 

In the affection he felt feeling Sasuke’s weight in his. 

In the warmth of Shisui’s hands, fingers hooking in his. 

Itachi has no wealth of precious people for whom he feels such affection that he simultaneously feels the urge to hold them, or be held in their arms. Those special individuals are few, and all the more cherished for their rarity. That the intensity of his desire for contact with them runs as fierce as his loathing for contact with people he dislikes makes cherishing them a particular challenge at times.

The texture of Kisame’s skin poses its own irresistible attraction. It is an allure Itachi would never know if not for the very real affection he feels for his partner, for he would otherwise have no interest in the feel of sandpaper rough flesh against his fingertips, or the comparably soft ridges of the gills that cut across his upper arms and just beneath his ears. 

There are times, particularly in the early morning hours, that Itachi feels the very impulsive urge to stretch himself against Kisame’s skin and feel its coarse texture scratch against his. It riles something beneath instinct, this shameless urge. He could not, for some years, allow himself the comfort of his desires without resistance. 

For a time he contented himself, when those urges rose in him, with soft touches. With running his nails over the curve of Kisame’s jaw, or the ridge of his hip. With gentle kisses against Kisame’s wrists, so he could feel the scratch of his skin against his lips. 

He still does indulge in such gestures, but now for the sake of casual affection he feels rather than the lingering caution he could not shake in the newness of their relationship. 

Itachi has, for years, trusted Kisame with his life. Trusting him with his heart though, with the very real and human insecurities in that heart, took time all its own. 

He remembers a morning, gently scratching his nail down the length of Kisame’s forearm, tracing the trail of his touch with his eyes with a dim light filtering through the blinds. He remembers Kisame turning and catching Itachi’s hand in his own, waking not with the wary abruptness his has for many years but with a kinder leisure. 

Itachi tenses at the feel of his conscious touch, enchanted by his own hand (small, long-fingered, pale) in Kisame’s larger, stronger grip. Kisame grins at him, sharp teeth on thin lips that Itachi has the uninvited urge to run his tongue against. Rub his fingers against. Feel the sharp edge of them like the fascinating scratch of skin against skin.

“You don’t need to hold back,” Kisame rumbles in raspy growl of a man not entirely awake. 

Itachi finds himself at a loss to respond. He forgets what he wants, unsettled by Kisame’s request that he do it. He is stunned into thoughtlessness, because this urge is not one he has consciously considered.

“Come here.” 

Kisame gently pulls him closer, coaxing with every opportunity offered for Itachi to pull away, but Itachi follows the guiding instinct within him. That impulsive, dangerous emotion. He allows Kisame to pull him in with it. He turns his head as Kisame nibbles gently against the corner of his lip. Instinct guides his hands to Kisame’s arms. His own calloused fingers grip tight, rubbing with deliberate pressure against his palm as Itachi turns Kisame’s tease into a kiss. 

As Itachi gives in and molds himself to Kisame’s sandpaper skin. Feels it scrape against his own, leaving white-hot abrasions. Leaving ripples of energy and suspense that tingle beneath Itachi’s skin.

Kisame’s large hands frame Itachi’s face. Itachi rubs his face against Kisame’s cheek, feeling the hot puff of laughter in the breath against his ear. “Kisame.” He doesn’t whine, but he can hear the frustration in his tone. Voicing his maddening desires in words is its own exercise in futility, for the most part. He cannot be more thankful for Kisame’s perceptive nature. 

“You like this, don’t you Itachi.” Kisame scratches his thumb against Itachi’s jaw. Observes the shudder of nerves and desire in his wake. 

“Yes.” 

“My skin against yours, even though it’s….”

“I like the feel of it.” 

There is a measure of gravity in Kisame’s dark eyes as he stills Itachi long enough to look at him. Long enough to catch him at the edge of impulse before he falls too far into it and take stock of the new parameters of their physicality. 

Itachi, captured, does not know what to say to him. He can make assumptions, but assumptions without evidence are baseless and unnecessary. Whatever relationships Kisame may have had in the past, he was always courteous enough to keep them separate from their working comradery. Itachi knows that Kisame indulged in short, physical affairs on occasion during their travels, but never inconveniently.

They were never Itachi’s concern. Nor is Itachi prone to jealousy over what is long gone. 

But the way Kisame looks at him….

Assumptions. Instinct goads him towards them, regardless of evidence. Regardless of sense, because Itachi cares that this desire of his might give Kisame pause. He cares that what he wants may cause harm to one of the few people that he truly cares for. 

“You…”

Kisame takes Itachi’s hand in his. Kisses his fingertips. Nibbles them gently with his shark-sharp teeth. Watches Itachi with those piercing eyes. 

Itachi shivers, instinct again rearing its greedy head. He bites the corner of his lip in a futile attempt to hold it at bay. 

“You really don’t find my inhuman attributes… repulsive.”

A flash of anger stabs through Itachi’s heart like lightning. Like Amaterasu’s black flames. Deadly, fast, ever-burning. Wild and unchecked in a way that he cannot safely allow his emotions to be.

An Uchiha’s rage runs deep. Too deep. He has watched it destroy everything he loves. He cannot dare allow himself to fall to it. No matter the cause. 

No matter the loved one for whom it burns. 

Kisame chuckles, bitter mirth breaking the spell. “Your eyes.” 

Discipline and reason catch up to impulse. Itachi reigns his temper in and wills his Sharingan to fade into black. He buries his face in Kisame’s hand and savors the warm, rough feel of Kisame against him as he tries to find some way to give voice to his reaction. To give reason to it. Rationalize it. 

“I like your skin,” he repeats sullenly. 

He does not like whomever told Kisame it was repulsive.

Even the word sounds disgusting in Itachi’s thoughts. 

“I see.”

“I find myself rather the opposite of repulsed by it.” 

“Oh?” Kisame runs one of his fingers down Itachi’s spine. It tickles; the gentle touch combined with that soft scrape of Kisame’s skin leaves goosebumps in its wake. Itachi feels his lower back spasm. Feels his hips twitch forward. Feels like he wants to squirm or rub or something, because a glorious expanse of that rough skin is bared before him, is pressed against him, and what he is currently feeling of it is not nearly enough. Heat pools in every place where their skin meets. In Itachi’s gut, and in the impulse urging him on.

Kisame cups his ass. Squeezes. Itachi gives into his urge to bury himself in Kisame’s touch, to burrow into his skin as he is able. His sensitive cock, hard against Kisame’s thigh for the teasing, scrapes against that skin and he hears himself utter a noise he cannot control. 

He finds he does not want to control it. He wants Kisame to know his desire. To witness the evidence of it in Itachi’s voice, in his actions, in his genuine pleasure. He cannot fix harmful words long past, but he can countermand them in new memories. 

Kisame takes him at his actions. “Here, Itachi.” He locks his leg around the back of Itachi’s thigh and grips his cock in his rough palm, and he is so gentle, so careful, that the heat under Itachi’s skin screams/craves/begs for more. For Kisame to press that rough texture against his most sensitive flesh. His fingers scrape against Kisame’s chest, fingers twitching, mouth open and panting against Kisame’s skin as Kisame wraps him in an erosive cocoon of heat and safety and tender regard. 

It hurts. 

The slow tease.

The abrasive edge of Kisame’s skin against his. 

The instinct burning in him to push, to take, to fuck Kisame’s hand until his skin is raw and he can feel nothing but the heat of chafed nerves.

But Kisame would never intentionally allow him to hurt himself so, not now. Not even on impulse. 

Never again.

So he endures Kisame’s tortuously careful grip as his nerves tingle white-hot sparks of lightning pleasure in his gut, across every scraped inch of his skin. He rubs himself against Kisame as much as Kisame will allow him to. He buries his face in the crook of Kisame’s neck and nuzzles beneath his ear and then his cheek, teasing hitched gasps from his lover as he bestows soft kisses against his incredibly sensitive gills.

It feels like he is trapped in this abrasive blanket for a lifetime. His mind sings blank of thoughts and worries and cares. All there is, is Kisame’s skin, his warmth, his touch, and his careful trusted guidance.

Kisame drags his fingers through Itachi’s hair, gently caressing his scalp. Itachi offers him a soft sigh, relaxing into his pleasure as the impulsive agitation beneath his skin gives way to release. He nudges his nose beneath Kisame’s chin, content to lie there within the warmth of his course embrace. The last thing he wants is to move. 

A chuckle rumbles beneath him, vibrating Kisame’s chest. “I see you did not lie to me.” 

Floating in his contentment, Itachi hums an agreement against Kisame’s throat. He feels Kisame’s flesh hard against his thigh. Considers his options sleepily. He would like nothing more to continue feeling the fascinating texture of Kisame’s skin against his.

An impulsive thought occurs to him. Those are rarely blessings, but….

He gropes blindly for the bedside table, until one of Kisame’s hands follows his, helping him reach for the bottle of lubricant there with his conveniently longer reach. Itachi flicks the cap open and drizzles his hand in it, then presses it between his thighs. 

Following his actions, dark eyes carefully attentive, Kisame groans. “Itachi.”

Itachi turns in Kisame’s arms. Guides Kisame with him. Urges Kisame to press into him. To press his cock between his thighs. “I said I like your skin.” 

Kisame curls his body around Itachi and takes what he very willingly gives for the sake of Kisame’s chest pressed along the still tingling length of his spine. For the sake of feeling that softer, but still strangely rough cock thrusting between his legs. Itachi presses his thighs together. Drags Kisame’s arm around him as he arches into those thrusts. Feels his cock harden with the ever present scrape and scratch against his own softer skin. 

Kisame tenses against him, runs his teeth along the curve of Itachi’s throat so that Itachi can feel the sharp edges of them. 

He shudders as he comes, leaving Itachi basking in the quiver of powerful muscle wrapped in sandpaper against him. He could, giving into impulse, stay comfortably embraced in this feeling for hours. 

“Itachi.” Kisame runs his hand down Itachi’s hip, curves it over his thigh, rests it there. Holds Itachi there. 

Itachi savors the feel of him, and lets himself drift.


	6. Consequence of Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of his family, Sasuke is learning to cope.

Three days before New Year’s, Sasuke slips through Naruto’s office window. He is courteous enough, this time, to alert Naruto’s ANBU guards to his presence. The last time he didn’t ended in an embarrassing interruption on their parts. While Sasuke generally considers them competent enough for other people, he knows they aren’t his caliber, and thus are prone to surprise on his behalf. 

He would much rather not be interrupted. He is more keen on doing the interrupting.

There is one lamp lit in Naruto’s office. It isn’t long after dark; Sasuke will not have to tease him much for lingering at work longer than he should. Regardless, most of the Tower’s inhabitants have returned home by now, or are packing their things. Naruto is conveniently alone. 

Not alone. He smiles, feeling Sasuke’s fingers tugging the short ends of his hair. His head turns, a knowing glitter in his eyes, because of course he sensed Sasuke coming. “Welcome home.” 

Sasuke kisses his jaw. His own greeting is more honest in actions than words. He has missed this. Deny it though he may, he misses Naruto’s warmth when he leaves. He craves it when he returns, as a relief from the lonely distance of his journeys. Their family offers more, but so much he finds it overwhelming in his immediate return. One of them, that is enough. Naruto, Naruto is more than enough. 

He is the only bond Sasuke has never been able to escape, and thus Sasuke expects he will always be the one he feels most at home with. The one that will always tug him home first. 

So when given the option, this is where he comes first. 

To where Naruto, idiot romantic that he is, will take his hand and kiss it like some sort of storybook lover would. He reads too many of those damn novels. 

Sasuke would mock him for it if he didn’t know why, and if he didn’t occasionally benefit from their sappy suggestions. 

Idiot. 

Well, he’s the idiot who lets Naruto pull him closer. Despite the road dirt and sweat, Naruto sweeps him up in those warm arms. Beneath fabric Sasuke can feel the subtle tense and flex of muscle. He appreciates the way Naruto has grown into himself over the years, that he can feel the physical hints of his oldest rival’s strength beneath his hands when they touch. That he can be so easily reminded that this man who has followed him, saved him, believed in him through even his worst and most foolish moments is still here and still powerful enough to protect his precious life.

That he is still powerful enough to pull Sasuke back if he ever chooses to be so foolish again. 

“You’re so damn skinny,” Naruto remarks. His hands feel hot on Sasuke’s hips. Sliding up his sides. Naruto hooks his chin over Sasuke’s shoulder and just… hugs him. Squeezes him tight. Nuzzles closer when Sasuke cannot help but laugh at him for it. 

Sasuke huffs and lets him. Lets himself fall into Naruto’s warmth and be held by it, because he hasn’t felt this in weeks and he wants. 

Naruto’s fingers skate beneath his shirt. He knows what Sasuke wants. The warmth he craves. The proof that he is welcome here, wanted here, not alone in the wild that still calls to him when he can no longer stand still.

His precious family. His precious people. He has to keep them safe with his own tainted hands. He will never truly believe they are safe if he isn’t the one protecting them. It’s getting better. Slowly, tediously. He is learning to trust again. 

To trust these hands that hold him close and welcome him home. Hold him home. “Kiss me,” Sasuke orders Naruto. And with a knowing, vulpine smile, Naruto gives him what he wants. Naruto’s lips are full against his. A wet, gentle warmth that pulls him in as Naruto’s arms pull him in. As his fingers tingle goosebumps up Sasuke’s spine. Naruto twists one hand in Sasuke’s empty sleeve as if to leash him in place with it as he presses his palm to the small of Sasuke’s back and licks heat into his mouth. 

Licks fire through the chill of the lonely road he walks beyond the village walls. 

Sasuke leans his forehead against Naruto’s. “It’s getting late,” he whispers. “Let’s go home.” 

Naruto kisses his cheek. Sasuke flushes at his soft affection. “You sure?” Naruto asks. Not because he doesn’t want to, Sasuke knows. Not because he doesn’t appreciate Sasuke urging him to leave his work for the night. If Sasuke remembers their schedule correctly, it should be Sakura’s night to make dinner, and Boruto and Himawari should be home from the Hyuuga compound in less than an hour. 

Sasuke appreciates Naruto’s concern. His understanding. “Yes,” he answers. Three years ago, he might not have been able to answer like that. It is because of their family that he can.

It is because of Naruto that he can. 

“Then let’s go home,” Naruto says. That one word sounds like a gift. 

\--------

Sakura is home when they arrive. She sticks her head out of the kitchen, the smell of cooking onion and meat following her. Her hair is tied up and out of her face, and there’s a little dot of chocolate on her nose, which makes Sasuke intensely curious about what she’s been up to. 

“Welcome home Sasuke.” Her green eyes crinkle. 

Sasuke toes off his shoes. “I’m home.” 

She lets him come to her. Holds out her arms and lets him fall into them. 

She doesn’t nuzzle the way Naruto does. Her affection is quieter. Steady, like she is and has always been for them. She is not the overwhelming storm that keeps him in check, that wraps him tight and summons him home. She is granite and steel, solid. Unmoving. 

She kisses his forehead. “We’re having gyudon tonight,” she tells them. She only has about six things she can cook, and most of them are restaurant food her own mother despairs over. She hugs Naruto too in a quick squeeze. “The kids’ll be home soon.” 

“Hinata?” Sasuke asks. 

“Later. Dispatch yesterday said her team completed their mission. She should be home tonight.” 

“I’ll make breakfast tomorrow!” Naruto laughs. “Shikamaru can hold down the Tower for a couple hours.” Sasuke nods, grateful. He is not always granted the gift that is having his entire family home at once. He knows he is partially to blame for that, but….

“How long are you home?” Sakura asks. Without judgement. She owes him some judgement, but she and Naruto both understand him too well, and he is thankful for that. 

“A week at least.” Perhaps longer this time. Perhaps this time he can push a day beyond that. Maybe two. Before the knowledge that he is helplessly waiting for disaster safe within the villages walls overwhelms him. He can trust Naruto to ensure that disasters that await within them will be dealt with, but those beyond….

He cannot stand idly by. 

But perhaps he can wait just a little longer this time. 

“Good,” Sakura tells him. 

Sasuke gives into his urge to hug her close, simply because of that.

After dinner he even lets her shove one of the dark chocolate and cherry cakes she’s made at him. It isn’t too bad; she hasn’t made it very sweet. 

\---------

Hinata joins them late in the night, after the children are asleep and the crickets have ceased chirping. She is quiet as night when she enters their bedroom. If it weren’t for Sasuke’s well developed sense of paranoia, he wouldn’t have woken to her presence. 

He wakes because even within his own home he cannot stop defending his family no matter how safe he feels here. 

Hinata does him the courtesy of sitting down on their bed. Leaning over Naruto to kiss his cheek, a gentle acknowledgement of his watchful presence and a silent welcome home. Naruto shifts beneath her warmth, curling himself closer to Sasuke in his sleep. Behind Sasuke, Sakura’s breath shifts. Hinata brushes a lock of hair from her face. She asks Sasuke softly, “how are you?”

“No injuries,” he answers, equally hushed. Neither of them wish to wake their lovers.

She is tired, Sasuke sees. She’s just home from a mission; of course she is. She and her team are among the best trackers Konoha has. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” Hinata tells him. 

Sasuke traces her face with his fingertips, and lets himself smile. “You too.” 

She settles in next to Sakura. Just like that, Sasuke finds himself wrapped in his overwhelming family as if he has never left. 

\----------

When they were kids, Sasuke would have assumed Naruto couldn’t tell an egg from an apple. The very idea that he might be able to cook at all would have stunned him. Worse, it probably would have angered him into some ridiculously stupid challenge he realizes now he would have lost, which would have only enraged him further. 

Now, though, he gets to reap the benefits of Naruto’s interpretation of breakfast: eggs, ham and pancakes stacked high enough to give Sasuke a toothache. It isn’t traditional, but Naruto has never been the traditional sort. 

He also has this very tart berry jam he won’t tell Sasuke the origin of that he places on the table just for him. It’s delicious, an excellent counter to the sweetness of the pancakes. He lets Sarada steal some, and ruffles her hair as she hums her pleasure at the taste. She’s getting so big. If there’s one regret Sasuke has, it is that he hasn’t been here for her enough. He wants to be here for her more, and if that means trying to push his anxiety just another day, just a little more, than it’s worth the skin-crawling agitation he feels the longer he stays.

“Hey pop, can I show you my new lightning jutsu?” Boruto asks, excited. “Killer B taught me, and dad says he can’t do it, so he can’t really help me, but you can so….”

“After breakfast Boruto,” Sasuke tells him fondly. The boy radiates excitement. 

Beside Sasuke, Sarada nudges him, leans close, and whispers, “His eyebrows only just grew back.” Sasuke bites his cheek. Sarada grins when Boruto sticks his tongue out at her. “Can I practice with you?” she asks. Sasuke can never deny her such a request, so of course she can. 

“Good,” Naruto says, sweeping over the table with an enormous plate of eggs. “They’re gonna get sick of me.” Hinata giggles and sticks a bite of pancake in her mouth to muffle it.

“I’m not sick of you,” Himawari says, looking up at her father with those large eyes of hers. They remind Sasuke of Naruto’s as a child. Warm, glimmering with hope, sharp. “Dad can teach me jutsu.” 

“You wanna learn wind jutsu Hima?” Naruto asks. 

She hums indecisively, but when Sakura astutely asks her “or do you want to learn clones?” she chirps a bright yes.

Sasuke shares a private look with Hinata, because he knows she and Neji have been teaching Boruto and Himawari Hyuuga gentle palm taijustsu, and he can put a few ideas together and realize exactly how deadly that combination could be. If the pair of them ever activate the Byakugan. 

Hinata looks towards the clock. Her face falls very subtly. “Debrief?” Sasuke asks her. 

She smiles shyly and nods. “I need to be there soon.” Naruto hugs her as she stands from the table. “I’ll be in in an hour. Tell Ino she can send it up as soon as you’re done.” Sasuke reaches for her hand. Squeezes it when she reaches back for him. 

Sakura meets her by the door and kisses her. “Good luck.” 

They all have duties to get back to. 

\-------

Naruto is the last to leave, after they’ve seen Sakura off to the hospital, Himawari to the Academy, and Boruto and Sarada off to their team. It’s ridiculous to think they’re genin already; Sasuke feels as if their graduation was only yesterday, and their entrance ceremony just days before. Sasuke can’t be more grateful that they’re on the same team. He wishes he was here for their assignment. He hasn’t met their teammate yet. 

“How are they doing?” He asks Naruto about them, because it makes him so incredibly nervous to think of his daughter and his son out there where anything could happen to them, with Sarutobi Konohamaru of all people as their sensei. He’s had to resist the urge to come back in just to follow them more than once. 

Naruto wraps an arm around him. He pulls Sasuke in close and hooks his chin over Sasuke’s shoulder, and squeezes. “They’re doing alright. They’re smart kids Sasuke. Don’t know how that happened, with us as parents.” 

Sasuke hugs Naruto’s arm to himself. “Neither of us had the best examples.” Naruto’s right. Damn him, but he is. Sasuke feels the stinging ache of guilt in his heart. More guilt. More wrongs he’s done laid upon his shoulders, hurting those he cares for. 

“We’re doing our best Sasuke.” Guilt echoes in Naruto’s voice with his own. 

Sasuke turns and kisses him. “You’re here for them, Naruto. Don’t.” Those blue eyes of his turn aside, the disbelief of a lifetime of trying too hard and not reaching far enough within them. Sasuke can only blame himself for Naruto feeling that, because it was him that Naruto could never reach. No matter how hard he tried, for so long. 

Naruto leans his forehead against Sasuke’s chest. “Good thing Sakura and Hinata are here. I don’t think we could do this without them.” Probably not.

Sasuke tilts Naruto’s chin up. “Idiot?”

Naruto grins. “Asshole.” Sasuke smooths Naruto’s hair back from his face. “Glad your home,” Naruto mutters. “How long.”

“I’m going to try for ten this time,” Sasuke tells him. 

“You sure?” No. Sasuke feels jittery just thinking about it, but he wants to try. For his family’s sake, he wants to stay with them longer. Naruto knows him too well not to see it. “What’cha want me to do?”

In the steadily healing path of time, for the sake of the pain they have caused each other and the affection they share, Sasuke can bring himself to ask Naruto for only one thing. “Don’t give up on me.” 

Naruto grins against his lips. “Never.” 

\-------

It takes less than a day for Sasuke to become bored in the village. 

That is part of his challenge. His ever-unsettled nerves can be held at bay by the attention and support of his family, but his family has regular duties within the village that he does not share. Working with the ISIA, his missions tend to be long term and thus when he is not out of the village on one, he has nothing in particular to fill his time. 

It’s even worse now that even Himawari is in school. He cannot fill his time with the children when they have their own obligations. 

Fortunately, over the years Sasuke has become aware of his problem, and thus knows better than to allow himself to be unnecessarily idle. He makes himself a schedule. He trains daily. He visits his brother; there are always some minor tasks he can help with. 

(He suspects Itachi holds some of those tasks in reserve to make sure he has something to do when he comes home.)

He makes himself available for both general short-term missions and Interrogation. They can’t always find ways to take advantage of him, but every once in awhile Interrogation has some idiot in custody who can be pretty much instantly intimidated by his presence, and it does save them some time. 

But that still leaves him with too much time to himself. 

Sasuke is determined to push his limits. To stay longer. To not give into the anxieties that drive him to take such distant missions. Shortening those missions has helped, but….

That isn’t good enough. 

Sasuke finds himself distractions. 

He meets Sakura and Hinata for lunch. He spars with those of his Academy year-mates that are in town and willing to tolerate his presence. Lee is almost always good for a bout. 

He interrupts Naruto in his office, and makes absolutely sure no one is guilting him into staying later than he really should. 

Sometimes he interrupts for more selfish reasons. 

He catches Naruto napping as he slips through the window. His cheek rests heavy in one of his hands. There’s an open scroll in front of him, and Sasuke knows he’s been here since far, far too early. 

A team came in last night. Most of them are in the hospital. Sasuke has already offered to follow their trail backwards to investigate the attack they suffered from a group of missing nin who are dissatisfied with the recent alliances building between the five Greater Nations and several smaller ones. Ninja who still cling to hatred and vengeance and a glorified illusion of past wars. Naruto has already warned him to wait. 

Sasuke slides the scroll out of reach. He scans it before he rolls it up and sets it aside, and glides his fingers through Naruto’s hair, nails scraping gently across his scalp, to wake him. 

“Hmmm, wha-Sasuke?” He hums, pressing against Sasuke’s hand. “Damn keep doing that.” 

“You should come home early.”

“Ngh… can’t.” Naruto isn’t making a coherent case for himself, Sasuke thinks. He’s half asleep again with the feel of Sasuke’s fingers in his hair. “Gotta ‘nother team comin’ tonight.” 

“Alert status?” 

Naruto manages more coherent attention for that. “Yellow. That group’s still out there. This morning’s the first time they’ve attacked Konoha jounin on purpose, but we’re not taking chances.”

“I could meet them.”

Naruto pulls Sasuke down for a kiss. “Might have you do that. I’ve got two jounin in intensive care already.” 

“Sakura?”

“Says they’re stable. Be on leave for at least a month though.” 

Sasuke tugs Naruto’s hair. “I came to distract you from work, not pull you deeper in.” 

“Rebel.” 

“Idiot.” 

Fondly, Naruto nudges his nose against Sasuke’s cheek, grinning. “What’cha have in mind?” Which is clear enough code for ‘I have time.’ For the moment. A Hokage’s time is always limited. Sasuke knows better than to let it go to waste, and it seems Naruto could honestly use a moment of distraction. 

Sasuke whispers into Naruto’s ear, and enjoys the red flush that spreads across his face, down his chest, and to his ears. Then he slams his foot on Naruto’s chair between his legs and pushes the chair out from the desk. 

Naruto watches him hungrily, his eyes focused entirely on Sasuke. It does terrible things to Sasuke’s ego that Naruto will so easily give him his undivided attention without a thought to the consequences.

They’ve done terrible things to each other, focused entirely on each other without thought for the consequences. Here though, the only consequence is their mutual and pleasurable distraction.

Sasuke straddles Naruto’s lap and slides his hand down Naruto’s pants. He nudges Naruto’s head back with his nose and licks into his mouth as if he owns it. Naruto sags against him, unashamed noises escaping his lips. His fingers find purchase in Sasuke’s hair, in Sasuke’s shirt, gripping tight and demanding.

Sasuke slides to his knees, bending willingly before his Hokage as he drags Naruto’s cock from his pants and takes him into his mouth. Lets Naruto grip his hair tight. Enjoys the feel of Naruto’s thighs trembling under his touch. He wants Naruto to fuck his throat, digs his fingers into Naruto’s ass to press him closer, rumpling his pretty, white, semi-formal cloak beneath his hands. 

Naruto bites his hand to muffle the cries on his lips. Bucks uncontrolled, heedless of control, because he knows Sasuke wants that. He knows Sasuke wants to watch him fall apart, to revel in the power he has to reduce Naruto to a quivering mess of nerves. His rival, his friend, his lover. It is only his touch that could do this. 

Only his touch could render the most powerful man alive so weak. Helpless.

Protected. 

Sasuke shudders in the grip of his own power, in the intensity of Naruto’s hunger for him. In the freedom he has to do this to his Hokage in his own office. 

“Sasuke,” Naruto hisses between his teeth. His hips stutter. His abdomen quivers beneath Sasuke’s touch. His breath hitches and falters.

He spends himself; Sasuke sucks him dry, watching helpless, shivering pleasure overtake him.

It is a matter of a touch to satisfy himself when he has such a beautiful image to watch. 

Naruto tugs at his shirt gently. “Hey.” Sasuke gives him the kiss he wants. “Gonna get an earful from Shikamaru again,” he mumbles with false irritation. 

“He’s used to it.” 

“Think my mom wouldn’t’a been as bad about it.” Sasuke has no frame of reference to refute that. 

He pulls himself away. It’s time he went; his distraction for the day has lingered long enough. 

Naruto catches the hem of his shirt. “Hey, stay a little?” Sasuke watches him silently, waiting for some further explanation. Naruto has work to do, and people to meet. He can’t need Sasuke distracting him further. “Just want you around,” Naruto tells him, smiling. “You can help me with paperwork?”

“I’m not doing your paperwork idiot.” 

“Fine, you don’t have to do paper work.” The way Naruto looks aside and pouts, it’s like he’s twelve years old again. 

“Fine.” He has nothing better to do anyway. Not at the moment. And he certainly needs the distraction. “I’ll stay.”

Naruto beams at him like he’s said the most amazing thing in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with Opportunities Keep Giving, I do have about two more scenes written for this compilation in my cue that I haven't posted. Since I've mostly stopped writing new material at this point, I'll be gradually posting what I have left.


	7. Illusionary Point of View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The constant companion that is danger does not rest in peace.

In the comfort of their routine lives, Kisame feels an inexplicable anxiety. It isn’t constant. It isn’t even common, really. There is no particular trigger for it but the offhand realization that he is, in fact, comfortable in his current life. 

For the past several years he has lived impossibly free of the dangers he knew in his youth. In fact he has lived far longer than he ever really expected to. Ninja lifespans are not commonly long, and the lives of missing nin are far shorter. They are weapons to be used and discarded as needed, and it takes very little wear to dull a weapon beyond its usefulness in their profession. As well as he knows that, Kisame knows equally that he could not be luckier to find himself in a place where he is valuable beyond his skill as a weapon. Where he has the luxury of having relationships with the people around him that will amount to more than a knife in the back. Where he can trust that what he knows to be true is, in fact, true. 

But sometimes this life is inexplicably terrifying.

Terrifying because it is real, and it shouldn’t be. Terrifying because he has looked over his shoulder for so long that he still can’t imagine a life where he doesn’t have to. 

Sometimes the lack of danger in his life gets to him more than the most insidious threat. 

“Let me see your eyes.” 

As Itachi’s slender fingers caress his jaw, he feels that tension rise in him. Spiral like a tightening knot around his throat. Itachi is gentle, but perhaps that is the problem. In gentleness waits the risk of danger, and though Kisame knows there is no danger, a part of him still finds that more unbelievable than the possibility of it. That anxiety makes Kisame’s hands tense against Itachi’s hips though there is no reason for it. His throat goes tight as Itachi leans into him and brushes a kiss his fluttering gills.

Scrapes his hands against the rough texture of Kisame’s skin. 

Presses his body into Kisame’s with sinuous grace as if he is molding himself there and never intends to refit himself anywhere else. 

When he pulls back, his eyes are bleeding crimson, and the familiar danger in them settles Kisame’s nerves immediately. 

Itachi doesn’t have to ask for his reason. They know each other too well. He knows as Kisame kisses him that his need is an uncontrolled monster lurking in his mind. Just as Itachi’s own demons are. There is no fix for them but time and trust and the temporary bandages of actions such as these. 

Actions that do not impede their desire for each other, but change it, sometimes, to fulfil other needs. Needs like Kisame’s appetite for danger, for a threat that he knows would be the death of him were it not in the hands of a man who loves him too much.

Who knows what he craves and loves him enough to grant him that without judgement. 

Itachi strokes a hand down his abdomen, those crimson eyes locked on Kisame’s, fierce and perilous and so warm Kisame hardens just at the sight of them. Groans as Itachi takes his cock in his hand and strokes him. 

Kisame slides his palm down Itachi’s spine. Enjoys the shift of Itachi’s hips against his. Enjoys the way Itachi’s breath hitches as Kisame dips thick, wet fingers into into him. As Kisame fucks him open, Itachi’s cheeks flush delicately beneath his porcelain skin. He sinks into the heat of his lover’s body and deeper into the danger of his eyes. 

He wants more. He shouldn’t. There is no reason for him to desire that danger, the feel of his life at risk, but he wants it. “Itachi please.” 

“Do you trust me?” Itachi tilts Kisame’s chin, those eyes burning a fire in him.

“Always.” 

The whirl and clang of battle rushes over him. The deadly dance of sword and knife, ninjutsu, taijutsu, his life on the edge of chance and nothing.

And everything. 

Kisame surges through that intensity with every nerve in him aflame. With a warcry on his lips for its frenzy. 

Itachi’s genjutsu breaks in hot gasps against his lips. In Itachi’s soft whispers in his ear, reminding him of their battles together. Of his admiration for Kisame’s strength, his passion, his ferocity. Those complimentary words burn as hot as the rush of battle singing in Kisame’s blood. As hot as Itachi’s body clenched tight around him. 

His hands tangle tight in Itachi’s hair. His mouth finds Itachi’s in a hard kiss full of clicking teeth and breathless moans. Itachi shudders, sags against him. His fingernails dig sharp points into Kisame’s scalp as he stiffens. Comes between them. Tightens impossibly. 

Kisame fucks him through it, reveling in Itachi’s body sagging boneless against him. Willing, trusting, shivering with the force of Kisame’s thrusts until Kisame buries himself in him.

Itachi bares his throat to him, resting his head against Kisame’s shoulder. “Kisame,” he begs quietly. Kisame bites down against his throat as he comes, and he thinks that perhaps he isn’t alone in his desire to feel the edge of danger in his life. Itachi’s shoulder flexes beneath his teeth, shivers in a beautiful tremble of vulnerability that makes Kisame want to tear into him. Taste his blood. Be consumed by the faith Itachi entrusts him with in such a simple display. He feels himself harden with that thought.

Feels Itachi chuckle as he presses a gentle hand to Kisame’s chest. Kisame is still buried within his lover. He could just….

“Do it,” Itachi whispers. He presses a kiss to Kisame’s gills. His tongue caresses the edges of them. Kisame feels them flutter beneath his touch and more, feels his skin tingle with delicate sensitivity. His hips twitch. Itachi sighs. Flaccid though he is between them, Kisame enjoys the supple bend of his spine, the roll of his hips against Kisame’s as Kisame grants him his request. 

Grants him the luxury of burying their mutual and unavoidable anxieties in their unshakable trust in each other. 

No judgements. No secrets. Just them and a past that will haunt them for a lifetime. At least, Kisame thinks, holding Itachi in his arms, those ghosts are held at bay by the very reliable comfort of his current, and before now unimaginable life. 

He may crave the adrenaline of battle, but he craves this more.


End file.
